For the first time since she was fifteen, however, Hannah found herself single. She’d never dated anyone but Tim. One night of sex in a barn with a virtual stranger, after a few ill-advised drinks, didn’t count—especially since she was more than happy to pretend it never happened.
Hopefully, Dallas was willing to pretend it never happened, too. She hadn’t been any kinder to him than she’d been to herself—although seeing him with Simone had banished her guilt. If they could avoid each other for the rest of their lives, then that would be great.
She opened the catch and began running heated sanitizer through the line that led to the filtration system. Being single wasn’t so bad. It gave her plenty of time to focus on building her brewery business, which left her too tired to be lonely at night. When she did decide to date again, she’d take it slower. She’d be more careful. She’d show more self-respect.
Maybe she’d show more respect for her partner, too.
*
By the endof the day, Hannah’s hair and clothes smelled like barley and hops and she was in desperate need of a shower. She had just enough time to run upstairs to her apartment before the taproom opened at seven o’clock.
She ducked through a door next to the taproom entrance and climbed a flight of stairs to a small hallway. The first door in the hallway opened into her private space. The second door led to storage space.
She opened the door to her apartment and discovered the air conditioner had quit. Again. Normally that wasn’t a huge issue, because her brother, an auto mechanic with an affinity for all things that ran, had taught her a few tips and tricks to help her save money, but a quick glance at the clock on her microwave said she didn’t have time to tinker with it.
Other than the decrepit air conditioner, which was by no means a dealbreaker, Hannah adored her apartment. It had arched, floor-to-ceiling windows, original clay-and-mortar brick walls, and all of the character that went with them. The kitchen and living room area formed one giant room. Warm, pine plank flooring, yellowed with age, matched a thick, butcherblock island with her pots and a wagon wheel light fixture hanging above it. She’d brought up two black-legged pub stools for seating from the taproom downstairs.
Furniture remained a bit sparse. A worn, thrift-shop sofa faced the street-side windows. She’d propped her artwork against the walls rather than hang them. The same brother who’d taught her how to fix things was also well on his way to becoming a nationally recognized metalworks artist. He’d made a life-sized cowboy, complete with chaps and a lariat, out of bicycle chains and various spare auto parts, for her. It lurked in the corner, just outside of her bedroom, and had scared the bejeebers out of her more than once when she’d gotten up in the night, but she loved it too much to move it. She had a spare room for family and friends, although so far, it hadn’t been used, and a large bathroom that also contained her washer and dryer.
She peeled her clothes off and tossed them in the general direction of the bathroom as she entered her bedroom, dropping her cell phone on her four-poster bed as she passed by. She’d turned the phone off while she was working and didn’t bother to turn it on now. Instead, she grabbed clean clothes from the closet—a sleeveless white cotton tunic with big purple flowers and a pair of matching purple shorts because she loved the color—and headed for the shower.
At five minutes to seven, she was downstairs in the taproom and unlocking the door to let her first customers in.
Three people entered—two men and a woman.
Hannah had no idea who the second man was, but Gloria and Hayden were regulars. They’d recently married and were adorable together. She was too happy for them to feel more than a small spark of envy because she and Tim had talked about getting married this coming December. She’d always wanted a Christmas wedding.
But she wanted someone who loved her, and shared the same values, even more. Those were the dealbreakers. Tingling her lady bits wasn’t enough.
The customers settled themselves at one of three pub tables butted against the side wall. The tables had board games engraved on them. The game pieces sat in boxes on small shelves. The men set up a game of chess while Gloria came to the bar.
“Hey, Hannah,” she said. She peered at the chalkboard behind Hannah’s head. Her eyes lit up with anticipation. “A cherry sour? I’ll take it.”
“What would the men like?”
“Hayden says he wants the lobster.”
Hannah couldn’t hold back her smile of pleasure. “That one’s my favorite.” She’d gotten the recipe from a friend who’d toured the microbreweries in Atlantic Canada last spring. It involved adding whole lobsters directly to the mash, then tossing the roasted shells back to the boil. It had taken a few tries to tweak the recipe to her satisfaction.
“And Levi—that’s my brother—wants the oatmeal stout.”
Another one of Hannah’s favorites. It had hints of vanilla and chocolate. She was working on a stout recipe with maple syrup that she hoped would be at least as good, if not better.
Gloria paid for the beer and returned to her table. She was short and had to boost herself on one of the rungs to climb onto her stool. Hayden reached over to steady his wife. Hannah, who at five feet nine inches was the shortest member of the Brand family, never had that particular problem, herself. She was more likely to trip over the chair and land on her face.
She drew three beers off the taps, balanced the full glasses on a tray, and carried them carefully across the stone floor. She wasn’t known for her waitressing skills and she’d dropped more than one tray in her career.
As she set the glasses on the pub table, Gloria introduced her to her brother.
“Hannah, this is Levi Harrington, my brother. He works on the Running River ranch.”
Hannah had to think about it for a second before the name of the ranch registered. There were so many of them in the area around Grand. The Running River wasn’t the largest operation by any means—the Endeavour had that honor sewn up—but it wasn’t a tiny spread, either. One of the McGregor brothers from the Wagging Tongue helped run it.
“You breed rodeo bulls,” she guessed, and he grinned.
“Usually, we breed the cows.”
“Poor choice of words,” she conceded, charmed by the grin and the quick sense of humor.